


Food for Thought

by fresianm



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:54:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresianm/pseuds/fresianm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But I exist because I do. I live because the cells that make me are still functioning. My heart still pumps blood through my veins. Nerves throughout my body send constant messages to my brain. I absorb light and sound and taste. People are living for something, and I am not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Food for Thought

I’m not one for philosophy. Never have been. 

It is a type of food for thought, I suppose, but not the kind I crave. I prefer the concrete; chemistry, human behavior, law, music.

But in one remote corner of my palace, there’s always been that question. What am I doing here?

It may sound a bit stereotypical. I am not asking the meaning of life. I am not asking what put me on this Earth. I do not believe in any higher power or God. I am here because of science. Because I am made of molecules that are made up of atoms. Of that I am certain.

But people often talk of goals and dreams, and it has been long since I’ve had one. When I was little I wanted to be a pirate, and Mycroft takes no shame in reminding me of it. But becoming what I am now - a highly renowned ‘Consulting Detective’ - that was never a dream. That was evolution.

I always thought my choice of deduction as the focus of my studies was almost entirely subconscious. But now that I reflect upon it, there may have been a reason. The only way to silence a hoard of snickering idiotic teenage males in the cafeteria was to embarrass them. I simply told them what I had deduced to be true. Quite frankly, I’m still not sure why it upsets people so much. Why are they so angry when you simply point out what is true? However, whether I understood it or not was irrelevant. It made their faces turn red with indignation and embarrassment. And for all the hell they gave me throughout my years in secondary school, I believe I had a right to take satisfaction in it.

To put it more simply; at that time in my life where I was deciding what skill to hone in on and block out the world with, deduction happened to be at the forefront of what seemed useful and practical. I focused on it, and I became good at it. Very good. Good enough to become the world’s only consulting detective.

So here I sit in a comfortable chair in a flat on Baker Street, with a cup of tea in my hands, deciding to let my brain wander to philosophy (I really do need a case soon), wondering why everyone else seems to be striving for a larger goal, and I am not. I strive to finish a case, I strive to find the next one (with a short enough period in between that the walls do not take a beating. John is always upset when that happens). But without cases I flounder. My brain runs in circles and buzzes and drives me to the brink of insanity. I suppose because my brain needs to be challenged constantly in order to function, unlike ordinary people whose brains are content to be idle for endless hours, watching telly or what not. Without a case, not only am I bored, but I am working towards absolutely nothing. Not just in that few hours or days, but in life. And in the general realm of humanity, I suppose that’s a bit odd. I imagine while a teenager sits in his room bored, that does not mean he has given up on his life goals. When someone my age is bored, it does not mean they are not still perhaps thinking about their desire for a spouse and children.

But I exist because I do. I live because the cells that make me are still functioning. My heart still pumps blood through my veins. Nerves throughout my body send constant messages to my brain. I absorb light and sound and taste. People are living for something, and I am not. Most of the time, this does not bother me. I seldom think about the meaning behind my life, nor do I really examine it. To other people my purpose is to catch criminals. To be ‘the good guy’ in the constant drama of good guy versus bad guy. The winners and the losers. They know very well I don’t do it because I’m a saint, but they must assign purpose to me, and that’s their default. Everything I do is done to temporarily escape the insufferable and never ending boredom that inhabits every corner of this damn planet. Everyone knows this on some level. Although everyone I am acquainted with likes to pretend I live my life being the hero, I prefer to live in reality; there really is no clear purpose in my own existence.  
I do not mean to imply that suicide crosses my mind frequently as a consideration. I generally know the thoughts, situations and conditions that are precursors to suicide, so that I may be able to tell suicide from murder more easily, but of all the ways to die, suicide is not the way I expect to go. I do not think I need a purpose, so much as right now trying to think of one is the only way I can resist tearing down the whole of 221B.  
I have ruled out my job. I want neither a spouse nor children, and I dread the day I might be forced into retirement. So that leaves people. There are, contrary to popular belief, people I care about, even though I honestly would prefer not to. I depend on Lestrade for my cases, but he has also pulled me out of a gutter - quite literally - several times. And in his own way, he is important to me, though I’m not sure I know exactly why. I think I may attribute some of that to the fact that out of all the idiots at Scotland Yard, Lestrade is the only one I can stand to be around for more than ten minutes. And I do believe he’s the only one who cares for me on any level. On what level I cannot tell (I’ve never been good at determining that sort of thing).

Mrs. Hudson will always be of special regard to me. She is old and silly and insists she is not our housekeeper but acts as one anyway. Over the years she has settled into my life quite comfortably. Yet again I’m not sure why she’s so important to me, but she’s not the sort of person you really feel you need to have a reason to grow fond of. She simply becomes part of your life and then she’s there and you don’t realize how protective you are of her until something happens to her. That’s when people get thrown out the window. Multiple times.

The leaves John. I feel I must assign a reason to his importance. I suppose because there are so many. Because I consider him my best friend, and he is the closest anyone has managed to get to me. I built up walls and he tore them down. And most confusing of all - I can’t tell if I resent that or not. Because I always thought my walls were necessary to my existence, but I seem to be not only surviving without them - I’m thriving. He could desert me (with good reason, too) and make those walls come back and higher than ever. But hasn’t. Not yet. In fact, against all odds, I left him first.

John is not unintelligent, but not on my scale (though, to be fair, there are few that are. Next to none). But he tends to be my moral compass. Where I am lacking he substitutes. And I have to admit it has come in useful. And although not necessary to solving my cases, it might make them go a bit quicker and clear my path so I can stick to what I know best - deduction and science.

Even though I loath to admit it since I spent my life avoiding emotional connections, I care for him deeply. Even though he is by my standards an idiot, he is also seemingly… without flaws (it sounds ridiculous, and I am embarrassed to even think such a thing, but if there’s a time to admit things to myself, it’s now). Perhaps it is because there has been a constant buzz in my mind for almost my entire life and he calms it. When is especially close to me it is so dulled I am able to almost forget about it. It is a very welcome relief. And because he has managed to put up with being my flatmate, my colleague, and my best friend. I disappeared from his life without warning for three years and he welcomed me back - albeit with a few understandably ruffled feathers (and ready punches).

But when I wake up in the morning after dreaming about him with a throbbing erection, I realize that I spent my whole life being mocked for my apparent lack of libido, and now that I have evidence to prove them wrong, I can hardly say so. Because I have sexual fantasies about my flatmate who has spent a good portion of the last 4 years insisting that he is not gay. He will never reciprocate, so I will continue to be mocked. But for all the mocking that he has warded off, it is the least I can do. And I will not risk his friendship. Not for all unpleasant awakenings in the world.

However, sometimes I have to admit I wonder. I wonder about how close he tends to sit next to me on the couch. I wonder about his stomach brushing my arm as he observes my experiments and the flush of blood to both of our faces. At the hint of a bulge in his pants that I can never verify because he turns away too quickly. I know he wanks off in the shower, but how could I know who it’s for? It could be for a girl he saw in Tesco and had a two minute conversation with about tomatoes. Because he lives with Sherlock Holmes, and therefore is in an eternal state of sexual deprivation.

But I diverge, and thinking about that for too long will get me in trouble. But, to answer my own question, if am going to live for anything, it would be for John: For his sarcastic comments, for his giggling when I do something absurd, with his hint of military style that sneaks its way in on occasion, for my ability to ward off his limp, for his wound that brought us together. Simply put, for his heart.

And as he walks through the door and his eyes meet mine for just a moment, and I see his adoration, his loyalty, his patience, his slight annoyance with the smell of body parts in the fridge, and that ever so elusive hint of lust, I think, just for a moment, that maybe he’s living for me too.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fiction so please do not be harsh. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!


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